How General Chaos Got His Name
by Writingathing
Summary: An attempt to fill in the gap in Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres' implausibly excellent off-screen social skills. Just how did HJPEV convince a bunch of 11 year-olds to follow him? Probably contains or will contain spoilers for HPMOR. Fanfiction fanfiction.
1. General Chaos's First Practice

Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres ran a critical eye over the twenty-four launchies who thought they had what it took to be a Chaos Soldier.

"Listen up!" he snapped in his weak, high-pitched voice. "You're all new here, so I might as well explain the rules. You'll address me as General Chaos -"

"What?" someone said. "I can't hear you."

Harry raised his voice. "You'll address me as General Chaos or God-Emperor Potter." He decided it would be easier to win their respect if he stuck with his Wizarding name for the time being. "Training begins at 0600 hours every day."

"We can't _hear_ you," someone complained.

Harry shouted as loud as he could. "You never know when we could have a battle. Maybe I'll find the order under my pillow tomorrow morning. And don't expect to be fighting only one army at a time anymore. They're screwing with the rules. They're screwing with us. But we can take it. Because we screw the rules. We're Chaos!"

"Okay," someone said.

"What?" someone else said.

One of the launchies raised his hand. "Hey, Harry, can I be like your second in command or something?"

"No, I don't have second in commands," Harry said.

"Because he's so much smarter than us," someone said, rolling their eyes.

"But there will be Squads, and Squad Suggesters, so if you impress me you can Suggest a Squad."

"This is stupid," someone else whispered.

Harry clapped his hands. "Okay, form up into two lines. We need to do an experiment to see if speed is more important than aiming."

No one moved.

"Come on," Harry said. "Get going! Okay, fine, everyone on this half is one Team Aim, and everyone on the other half is on Team Speed. We're going to have a mock fight. Team Aim, you guys can walk but not run, and Team Speed, you guys always have to be running." It wasn't an ideal experiment, but he wanted to start with something fun to get them excited, and so he could begin to get a view of their individual strengths and weaknesses. "Use only the Sleep Hex, okay? The incantation is _Somnium_."

"We know the incantation, it's not like we're stupid," someone said.

"Now, spread out!" Harry ordered.

No one moved.

"This is stupid," someone muttered to the person standing next to them.

"Guys, we really need this data if we want to beat Sunshine and Dragon. Now, Team Aim get on this side of the field, and Team Speed get on the other side! Move!"

His soldiers glanced around at their peers, and when it became clear that no one was going to move, a few sat down.

Harry tried to think of a way he could get them to do what he said through the power of science and rationality. Nothing came to mind since, theory aside, he had absolutely no domain-relevant experience.

"Guys, I'm the General," Harry shouted, trying to exude natural leadership and charisma. "You have to do what I say."

"Why do you get to be General?" someone said.

"Yeah," said one of the first-years who was sitting down. "You're just General because you suck up to Professor Quirrell."

"Besides, he's psycho," someone whispered to their friend loud enough for Harry to hear. "The instant you get hit by a Sleep Hex, he'll sharpen your bones into spears if he thinks it'll help him win."

"I don't even see why we need to practice," one of his soldiers yawned. Theodore Nott, a Slytherin and a son of a Most Noble and Ancient House. He projected a natural authority that all of Harry's books had not been able to teach him how to produce. "I bet none of the armies are taking this that seriously. It's just a stupid after-school game."

"Guys, if we don't practice, we will lose!" Harry said firmly. "Dragon and Sunshine are practicing very hard. Don't you want to get Quirrell's Christmas wish?"

Someone sniggered.

"Hey, guys, anyone want to see my Gobstones collection?" Nott stood up, and half a dozen other students followed him off the field.

"Well, I guess that's it," someone said, and they broke away in small groups, leaving Harry standing on the field looking at -

"Hey, Neville, thanks for staying," Harry said.

Neville gripped his wand tightly. "I - I believed you, when you said that I could become as awesome as the me that I - that I wish I could be. But they're right. This is stupid. You're not a general. You're just a kid, and so am I."

"Don't say that, Neville!" Harry shouted. He grabbed the shocked Neville by the front of his robes. "Listen to me, Neville! My wand is the wand that will rewrite the heavens! Don't believe in yourself! Don't believe in me! Believe in the me that I believe in! Believe it!"

"No one likes you," Neville whispered.

Harry froze. "What?"

"No one likes you except for Hermione, and no one likes her." His eyes were rimmed with red. "You think you're so cool, but everyone thinks you're a freak. Some people hate you, and other people just wince and cover their ears whenever you talk. Everyone thinks you think you're smarter than they are."

"Neville, who cares -"

"And they're right. You're the General because you're the teacher's pet. You didn't prove you're better than us. You didn't earn this. You didn't win our respect. So why should we follow you?" Neville pushed Harry away. He looked as if he might cry at any second. "And - and...you're the only one who thought I could be something more than what I am, and now I don't want to be seen hanging out with you because that's the only thing that could make me even less cool than I already am!"

"Neville. Neville!" But he was running off and didn't look back.

Harry's gazed unseeing at a patch on the ground. His mind was working, racing. How could he win their respect? How could he prove he was meant to be General? How could he become cooler than Neville?

And as he asked the question, a plan began to form...


	2. General Chaos's Plan

As the last of the students filed in and finished sitting down, Professor Quirrell jerked out of...whatever slumber left him drooling on the desk. He stood up and began to speak in his clipped, precise voice.

"Let us begin by reviewing the mistakes of last week's fourth-year battle. You will notice that despite Homunculus Army's ongoing transfiguration that allowed them to recover from offensive spells without violating the rules, they neglected to consider the possibility that -"

The door creaked open.

The entire class of first-years turned in horror to look at who could possibly dare walk in late to Battle Magic.

Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres sauntered through the door. His shirt was untucked, and his robe was missing. He calmly made his way up the rows of desks, giving a "what's-up" nod to Pansy Parkinson along the way. He reached the very back row, slung his books noisily on top of the desk and slumped down in the seat. He then pulled out his wand and began to fiddle with it without ever once looking up at Professor Quirrell.

Professor Quirrell narrowed his eyes.

"Here, where Mr. Mustang made effective use of _Incendio_ to -"

"Psst!" Harry whispered. "Hey, Theo, pass this note to Pansy, will you? Hey, hey. Pansy. Pansy! Read the note." He winked at her.

The Defense Professor probed the boy's mental state. Strangely, the boy was calculating, rational. This was a plot, and the game was obvious. Yet, underneath...well, it made no difference. Either way -

"Mr. Potter!" The Defense Professor's voice cracked like lightning. "You will not speak in my class unless called upon. The passing of all notes will cease at once." He motioned with his finger and the scrap of paper flew out of Pansy's hand and into Professor Quirrell's. He opened it and read it impassively, and less than a second after opening it it burst into flames. Even the ashes burnt up into nothing. The Defense Professor lowered his hand and the temperature of the room lowered with it until the cold was oppressive and freezing, and Professor Quirrell's face was as dark as empty space.

Harry pressed himself against the back of the chair.

OK, do NOT mess with Professor Quirrell, no matter the possible strategic benefit. He needed an easier target.

* * *

Harry walked in late to Charms class, ignoring the literal Look of Flaming Fire Professor Flitwick sent at him, and he slouched low in his seat in the back of the class.

"The Unlocking Charm is an advanced charm for you year, but I believe it is a useful spell to learn, and mastering it will certainly heighten your magical abilities," Professor Flitwick said.

"Doesn't seem to have worked on you," Harry muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. A few people snickered. Professor Flitwick glowered.

"Hey, Harry," Kevin Entwhistle whispered. "Do you like _Naruto_?"

"Nah, I only like _cool_ children's cartoons, like _Avatar: The Last Airbender_," Harry said dismissively. "When I'm not, uh, doing _drugs_."

"You do drugs?" Anthony Goldstein whispered. "Wow!" Several other Ravenclaws turned their way.

"What are you guys talking about?" "Harry does drugs?" "What's going on?"

"Yeah, I've smoked some drugs," Harry said casually. "I've gotten pretty whacked out on, uh, you know. Some _stuff_."

"Aren't you worried you'll be caught?" Padma whispered.

"Who, me? The Boy Who Lived? Please." Harry snorted. "I can handle the police."

"Enough of that chatter!" Professor Flitwick snapped, and the students turned back to Professor Flitwick. Harry smirked. Next class was Potions. He and he alone knew how easily Professor Snape could be defied.

By the end of the day, everyone in Hogwarts knew that Harry Potter rolled his eyes at authority as casually as he did drugs. By the end of the week, the entire first-year class was in awe of him. He was even able to pull off a beautiful prank with Kevin Entwhistle's cat and a coat hanger, and Kevin had just clapped Harry on the shoulder and praised him, not that Harry had admitted to doing it.

But practices still weren't going well, and the date for the first battle drew ever-nearer. He had finally gotten them to practice _at all_, but he couldn't get them to do anything complicated or take his tactical advice. At least they were getting better at aiming while running, even if their stamina was still pathetic. Still, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were going to get absolutely smashed by Dragon Army if he didn't think of something fast.

What was holding him back? Why weren't they accepting him?

Then Harry realized. Neville had told him back at that first practice weeks ago. The one problem still remaining was...

* * *

Hermione Granger cast an approving eye over her Sunshine Officers. They were strong and loyal and good. She couldn't see how Malfoy or Harry would stand a chance in their first battle.

"That's enough for today, I think," she said. "Good work on that song, Captain Goldstein, I really think it will improve morale. Colonel Zabini, if you happen to overhear Malfoy discussing his battle strategy in the Slytherin Common Room, don't feel too shy about eavesdropping." Colonel Zabini nodded stiffly as if she had given him an order. She sighed. Now that her anger and embarrassment had passed, she wasn't sure how well she liked being a general. Her soldiers listened to her, but if anything it just made them more distant from her. They bonded as she became even more unglued from the rest of the first-years. It _worked_, but it was also sad. Surely Harry wasn't having this problem with his soldiers. He was probably just being _weird_ at them, warping reality around himself until, against all odds, somehow everyone was on his side even if they disagreed with everything he said. He had beaten Professor Snape somehow, after all, and Professor Quirrell, who was the very picture of evil, had decided Harry was his favorite student even though Harry was definitely good or wanted to be, even if he went about it rather oddly.

Speaking of acting oddly, Harry had definitely changed lately, she thought as she made her way to History of Magic class. He seemed disinterested in schoolwork, disinterested in everything, really, except drugs, which he _obviously_ had never used, not that anyone would believe her. He showed up late to every class, didn't dress properly, smirked whenever he lost their House a point. She had tried asking him about it but he had just given the same response he gave to everything these days: "Yeah, it's cool, whatever."

Hermione hadn't realized how important Harry's friendship was to her until Harry had changed like that. Now she had no one to talk to, to eat with, to be read with and be smart at and bounce ideas off and commiserate together about how utterly insane Hogwarts was, no one to _smush_ at classwork.

She missed her friend.

Hunched under the weight of a dozen textbooks, Hermione didn't look to see who was sitting where as she settled in the front row of Professor Binns' History of Magic class. She opened her textbook to the appropriate chapter like a good girl as Professor Binns began his century-old droning lecture on the Goblin Uprising. Something bounced off her head. She looked down at where it had fallen on her seat. A small, wadded up ball of paper.

A spitball. How charming.

Hermione focused on the text. A minute later, another spitball flicked off her ear. Someone sniggered. Whatever. Another bounced off her shoulder, and she calmly plucked one out of her bushy hair.

"Nice one," someone whispered.

"Really _gob_ on the next one," someone else said.

Now really, that was just disgusting. She turned around to tell off whoever was trying to annoy her, and that's how she found herself looking directly at Harry as he fired a wet, soggy spitball that landed right between her eyes.


End file.
